


Meetings and Partings

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: In Other Lands | The Turn of the Story - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: Times that meetings and partings, deaths and glories, have defined Luke Sunborn's life leaning up to the beginning of his time at Border camp.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Meetings and Partings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hardlygolden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlygolden/gifts).



> "Life is made up of meetings and partings. That is the way of it." Bob Cratchit/Kermit the Frog, A Muppet Christmas Carol
> 
> Happy Holidays and Yultide to you. I hope you enjoy!

There were stories about Luke’s birth.

This wasn’t too surprising; there were stories about most parts of Luke’s life. He was a Sunborn after all, and the son of Michael and Rachel Sunborn at that. As their only son, he was expected to be great, to excel, and to generally be the type of person that people told stories about; ones that might be written down in the annals to be commemorated by generations to come, or told around the campfire to listening ears wanting for something that would bring gladness to their hearts and encourage them not just to persevere but to work harder and better tomorrow.

At any rate, the stories made Luke feel well aware of every minute of his existence from the time of his conception to the time when his true memory started kicking in. He was wrong about the conception part, as he'd later discover. His parents had always stayed vague about the math of their missions when he was young, though they were a little too open about their lust for life at times. (They tried to tone down the talk for his sake, though, and he couldn’t ask for any more than that.) His birth, however? That he was certain of.

The family had gathered, as they generally did for the birth of a new Sunborn. The women were crowded into the bedroom, sharing childbirth comforts and grabbing whatever supplies were needed to assist in the process, aid Rachel through the inevitable suffering, and keep everyone cool in the summer heat. The men were keeping an eye on the children by setting up little skirmishes; toy bows, swords, and spears at the ready, and probably flying everywhere.

The news of Luke's birth arrived almost simultaneously with that of the courier, whose message spoke of his cousin's house burning down at the hand of brigands who'd taken the opportunity to attack the outpost-turned-mansion while the family was away. Two of the skeleton crew who had stayed to defend were dead, and reinforcements were being requested. There was also talk of a troll sighting and unnatural tree movement that might suggest dryad involvement on one side or the other.

A feast was held that night, his grandfather Reginald Sunborn giving a passionate speech about the auspiciousness of that day, of a Sunborn boy being born on the eve of battle.

It was the last speech he ever gave.

The family often said that Luke had his grandfather's spirit, just as much as they said that his death had spurred the others onto victory and to rebuild in his honour. Last he'd heard, the resulting fortress was still unfinished, but already rivaled his own home in grandeur and opulence.

Luke never really knew how to respond to the claims about his grandfather and their family resemblance. After all, how could he compare himself to a man he'd never really met?

* * *

It wasn't too uncommon for older children to be put in charge of taking care of the younger ones during family get-togethers, especially if the adults were preparing for a skirmish of one kind or another; either real and against outside forces, or simply a pared-down version of the trials for their own amusement and betterment.

It also wasn't too uncommon for the children to get into mischief, as any group of younglings is wont to do when left relatively unsupervised.

Louise, who'd been with a bunch of the female cousins not far away, practicing archery and pretending to be elves, had explained on multiple occasions how their cousin Ryan decided it would be fun to climb a tree with a three-year-old Luke in tow. Adam and Neil thought it was hilarious watching their older brother haul their little cousin up a tree, all right.

It was less hilarious when the branch he had settled upon broke.

Ryan had apparently flung Luke out in a futile self-preservation effort. He'd still landed wrong and broken his neck, dying almost instantly. Meanwhile, Luke had landed safely, by all accounts, almost drifting down and landing on his feet confused but unharmed.

Louise was always surprised that Luke couldn't remember that day, but the memory had not stuck. It remained just one more story in the Sunborn compendium, both of the fragility of life and a testament to just how good Luke was with heights.

* * *

An early memory that _did_ stick out with some distinction was that of Luke's first trials, held shortly after his fifth birthday. 

Louise had been pleading and complaining about not being allowed to join, stating that she already was as good as her cousins, a few years older, who had been granted permission. She was, and play-skirmishes would reveal that time and time again, but the age restriction of fourteen was still to be strongly enforced, despite her pouting. (They did, however, allow her to take part in the Trigon game, where she was strongly instrumental for her team's victory.)

So Louise was with Luke in the stands during the main event as the older Sunborns competed in one-on-one spars for dominance.

He remembers the sound of her cheering for their mother as she faced off against a third cousin.

He remembers the way that she whistled loudly, pulling him to his feet alongside her when their father won against the previous Sunborn champion in the very first round.

He remembers her gripping him tight as Harry Sunborn received a sword through the neck in what should have been an easily parried blow. He remembers the gasp through the crowd as they realized what had happened, and the way the murmurs had been mixed with cheers as the always-on-call field medics had rushed in to do what damage control they could.

It was the first death that Luke had ever witnessed. And even then he knew that it would not be his last.

* * *

Luke clearly remembers the last day he saw his mother.

Rachel Sunborn had been excited to be offered a place on the DeWitt mission. Its exploratory expanse suited her own wanderlust to a T, and the organizers were honoured that she'd join and serve both as a strong leader for the armed forces that would be accompanying this expedition, and as a bringer of peace in a way that Sunborns were famous for.

He remembers her hugging him tightly, kissing his cheeks and head, and making him promise that he'd be good for his father.

It was the first time that he'd be spending more than a few days with the man since he'd accepted the semipermanent post at the Northmark fortress nearly two years prior.

Luke promised that he'd do his best, that he'd learn what he could and be the best soldier that he could be, all of which made his mother smile and muss his hair.

He remembers watching her ride off, shoulders squared as he waved beside his father and a handful of aunts and uncles and cousins.

He remembers vaguely wondering if he'd ever see her again.

The worry stayed in the back of his mind the entire time he was stationed there with his father. Her letters helped, arriving approximately monthly, as she wrote about what she'd seen and accomplished; of the places they'd discovered, the people they'd visited, and the skirmishes she'd won. He treasured each one, hoping that it wouldn't be the last.

No letters came for almost his entire eleventh year, and that sense of dread grew. His father's presence was comforting in that time. He explained that Sunborn tradition stated that, if there was no word for a year, they'd presume someone dead and hold a funeral in their honour. He also explained about how his own Aunt Margaret had had three funerals due to her general dislike of wasting time on correspondence before she finally passed away of old age. Still, Luke could tell from his father's ashen complexion that they were both truly fearing the worst.

A week before the ceremony was due to be held, a whole slough of letters arrived bundled together, the top one apologizing for their delay, explaining how they'd been at sea with very few civilized ports, and and how she'd still written to them just as religiously as always (with the stack below serving as substantial proof). She also talked of how the expedition had been extended yet again, and she extended her apologies for not being able to see her little man off to school after all, even though the event was still more than a year out.

He would miss her, and yet the relief through his veins was still so potent, so powerful. He still had a mother, and perhaps, with a little luck, she'd come home to them safely once more.

* * *

Of course there were skirmishes. The Northmark fortress was an important station after all; that's why they had requested a Sunborn to be stationed there, and Michael Sunborn at that.

Luke wasn't allowed to participate, at first; none of the children of the families stationed there were allowed until they were at least eleven or twelve, and had proven themselves truly capable with at least two forms of weaponry. (Louise had famously sneaked her way into battle when she was ten-and-a-half, resulting in both a scolding and resounding praise when she'd cleverly taken down the enemy commander's wyvern mount.)

Most of his eleventh year was spent on the reserve forces; never seeing battle himself but stationed alongside a more experienced guard in case trouble reached their door. His father made sure it never did. When not on active guard or watch duty, he'd train alone, or assist others in the same; correcting stances and teaching manoeuvres he'd already mastered. 

And then, the autumn after he turned twelve, he was invited on his first active campaign.

To call it a true campaign was a little much, perhaps—simply tracking down a group of brigands and neutralizing their threat—but it was still his first. He rode out with his father, tall and proud, ready to fight alongside him and do whatever the task called for. The troupe that rode out with him were excited and ready for battle, including two other teens who were to be experiencing their first battles as well.

It took two nights of reconnaissance to track them down, and a third to plan the attack on their base. Luke learned much about taking care of the camp and strategy even as his teammates itched to use their weapons and dig knives into "vagrant scum".

It wasn't until the fourth sunset that they put their plan into action, ambushing the brigands at their base of operations.

All told, the battle was over as quickly as it had begun. Luke could hardly register anything more than a few rounds of parrying and hitting a full-grown man in the stomach with the pommel of his sword before a voice cried out in surrender.

Five men had been killed: three on the brigands' side, including the leader whose death had triggered the surrender, and two on their own, including one of the teens so eager for their first taste of a battle. Several more were injured. 

In the days that followed, Luke gravely observed what it was like to live through the aftermath of battle; how to tend to wounds, from light grazes to full-on stabs and broken bones, so that they wouldn't be worsened before someone better trained could be called to the scene. He saw how to apprehend those who had surrendered, although he personally was given the task of guarding confiscated goods while the men were rounded up and chained together in a line. And he learned how the ride home was different than the ride out; how the air of victory could still send some adrenaline to war-weary bodies, even if there was more of a grave solemnity as one respected the dead.

It was a successful first mission. There were claps on the back and a toast to the entire campaign upon their return to the fortress, and hopes for more such successes to come. The losses were mourned, and the grieving families were given appropriate time off to settle their affairs as the rest of the company resumed their work as usual.

That was how life was, after all. Fighting for good, for righteousness and glory, and being fair to those who hadn't quite seen it through to the end, but had given up their lives in the process.

Perhaps it wasn't always the easiest, but it was a good life, and one that Luke was proud to have been born into.

* * *

Perhaps his cousins were disappointed in Luke's decision to go to Border camp, but it was clearly the right decision for him to attend.

For one, it was a good place to learn about diplomacy from the best, and to form new liaisons with old families and newcomers to this side of the Border alike. For another, both his family and the camp's administration found it useful to have at least one Sunborn in attendance, both to raise the camp's prestige and to keep the peace. With Louise freshly graduated, it only felt right that he take her place.

And that was how Luke found himself on the first day taking the role of leader among his peers; greeting those who recognized him by family reputation, and reassuring those who looked nervous or uncertain. There was at least one shy girl who looked to be at least part-dwarven, and another, almost certainly elven, who held herself in a way that oddly reminded Luke of himself. 

There was also a boy in odd clothes who wouldn't stop sitting on a wall and who insulted Luke upon first introduction. Luke was certain he wouldn't be seeing much more of him.

He was wrong on that account, but that's a story for another time.


End file.
